


the sweet taste of something you can't have

by zeraparker



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 15:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18813706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/pseuds/zeraparker
Summary: Helmut kneels with his back to the room as he rummages around the bag. “Usually you’re gone longer when you’re out with Tom.”





	the sweet taste of something you can't have

**Author's Note:**

> First of: This is in no way related to the all.too.briefly verse and should definitely not be read with that dynamic in mind.
> 
> Secondly: I'm in the current mood for 'all the million ways Andre can be selfdestructive', so this might turn into a little bit of a disjointed series, we'll see. I am currently writing a piece with Carl/Andre of a similar mindset.
> 
> Thirdly: Enjoy!

The door lock beeps, the high sound loud in the dark room.

For one, two, three gloriously drawn out seconds, Andre allows himself to believe that it’s Tom on the other side of the door, pushing down the handle, the light from the hallway slanting over the muted beige carpet, cutting through the shadows in the room. Andre doesn’t breathe, lies still as if by not moving he can make the illusion real, can will the hope into reality: Tom, coming after him, coming to lie down in bed with him, curl around him, hold him. There are only two key cards to the hotel room though, and Andre knows in who’s possession the other is. He can hear the sound of fingers along the wallpaper, the click of the light switch a moment before the overhead light blinds him. He closes his eyes, tugging the blanket higher around himself.

The soft sound of footsteps stops, the click of the door falling into the lock. “Sorry, I thought you were still out.” Helmut sounds startled, a little confused.

Andre can’t blame him. It isn’t late, barely after dinner time. They had split up for the evening, Helmut meeting with Neel and his wife for an early dinner, the two set for an excruciatingly early flight the next day, while Helmut and Andre himself, along with many of the others had decided to add a couple of days to the end of the summer camp, prolonging their stay and using the facilities for a bit more personalised training, no other obligations scheduled for the next days.

With his eyes accustomed to the brightness of the light, Andre pushes the blanket down a little, shifting to watch Helmut cross the room to where their yoga mats are rolled up against the wall, a bag with various training equipment on the ground. “What about it?” he snaps.

Helmut kneels with his back to the room as he rummages around the bag. “Usually you’re gone longer when you’re out with Tom.” He sits back, holding up the book he’d been looking for before he pushes himself back to his feet, absentmindedly tugging on the hem of his light button-down shirt.

Andre can feel his skin crawl. He can’t quite read the tone of Helmut’s voice, the jealousy he’s more or less in jest accused Helmut of every time he’d shown his disapproval of Andre running when Tom had called for him swinging in it, but there’s mockery too, and it grates on Andre’s already frayed nerves. “What about it?” he repeats, sitting up, trying not to outright wince at the sudden ache washing through his body, the throb of soreness where bruises are forming under his skin from Tom’s firm touch, the tenderness of skin scratched raw across his chest. His lips feel swollen, the taste of come still at the back of his throat. It’s the drop that’s making him shake lightly, always worse after such an intense week of training, the adrenaline they’d built up released in a matter of minutes, but never worse enough for him not to crave more. Tomorrow, next week, by the time the next race comes along, his mind won’t linger on the frantic vulnerability he feels now, skipping straight to the rush of pleasure and release he’d felt under Tom’s hands that always make him go back for more.

The quick flicker of Helmut’s eyes down his bare torso feels almost like a touch. Andre forces himself not to flinch, hide away, pushes himself to the edge of the bed instead. The short cropped synthetic fibres of the carpet feel almost hot against his bare soles as he pushes his feet to the floor, a twinge shooting up from the base of his spine where the toy Tom had left inside him is still forcing him open. He should have removed it the moment he’d returned to his room, but the bed had been too inviting, the scent of Tom still clinging to his skin.

“Are you okay?” Helmut asks, almost something like concern, maybe pity, in his voice.

Andre snarls, forcing himself to sit up straight, the blanket bunched around his hips. He wants to look down, see if the dried traces of his own come are visible on his skin, evidence of the sordid desires he wants to wear like a medal, like a crown, anything to destroy that almost holy reverence Helmut always looks at him with, like Andre can do no wrong. He feels cut open, the raw scratches on his skin exposing him, making all the ugly truth spill out like gore. He’s only human, for fuck’s sake, he’s only a man, far from perfect, far from the legend that Tom has elevated himself to, untouchable, somewhere high above where Andre had once wanted to climb up to himself, but knows by now that time has run out on him, perished somewhere along the way to the very top.

“Just peachy. You should try it some time.”

A derisive snort escapes Helmut before he can stop it. He shakes his head, averting his eyes. “You should put some lotion on that, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because you’re being stupid playing whore for Tom.”

It feels like a slap. Andre clenches his jaw but refuses to look away. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Andre says, his voice firm.

“You really think you’re something special to Tom? Then why are you here all by yourself, and he’s off, probably fucking Adrien or Loic or one of the others; you all look at him like he’s the second coming,” Helmut rants, heat in his eyes when he raises them to meet Andre’s challenging gaze. Helmut is right, Andre knows it, and he can’t keep the emotions entirely off his face; he used to be Tom’s favourite, once, but there’s competition now, other drivers, younger and with an innocence Andre knows Tom craves. It makes him want to lash out, despite not having a clear target; he can’t turn back time, and the other men are nothing more than flies Tom lured into his web. It’s easier to hit what’s right in front of his eyes.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Andre says quietly, pushing the sheet away from him as he gets to his feet, crossing the short distance between them, sneering when Helmut’s eyes flicker down his naked body again, taking him all in. He can feel his half hard cock twitch at the attention. He is almost surprised that Helmut stands his ground; it’s not the first time they argued about this, but up until now it’s always been Helmut who’d eventually let it go, who’d stood down when their arguments had verged on the brink of destructive. That he doesn’t back off now almost makes Andre shy away in turn, almost. But the angry heat he can see in Helmut’s eyes reflects his own darkness and he wants to seize it, wants to destroy.

Without breaking eye contact, Andre reaches for Helmut’s hand. He holds onto his palm as he lifts it between them, the pads of Helmut’s fingers cool as they touch Andre’s chest, heat emanating from his skin where it’s scratched raw around his nipple. “You should have just said something,” Andre says, goading him on. “You could have had this a long time ago.” Helmut’s breath hitches as he wraps his lips around the tip of Helmut’s ring finger, sucking on it lightly before he moves on, drawing first the tip of his middle finger, then his index finger into his mouth.

A faint blush steals itself onto Helmut’s carefully controlled features, Andre’s name whispered like a warning between them.

“I know you generally prefer women,” Andre continues and takes a step forwards, his body coming flush against Helmut’s. Reflexively Helmut reaches out for him, his free hand settling on Andre’s waist. The hand that Andre still has a hold on he guides back behind himself, trailing the damp tips along his arse cheeks and between to where the base of the butt plug that is still breaching him sits snugly against his hole, the skin around it wet from lube and come. “Gonna feel all hot and wet for you, like any tight cunt,” he says, his voice low, his lips close to Helmut’s ear.

Helmut’s curse is a puff of hot air against Andre’s shoulder, his nails digging painfully into Andre’s arse cheek. A moment later Andre is spun around, barely able to raise a hand in front of himself before he is pushed harshly against the wall. Helmut presses against his back, the bulge of his cock trapped by the confines of his jeans against Andre’s arse. With his lower arm against Andre’s neck, Andre can barely move his head, the plaster of the wall harsh against his cheek and chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Tom’s cock not enough for you anymore? Did he fuck you at all or has he tossed you aside, traded you in for one of the younger boys?”

Andre snarls, struggles against the wall and Helmut’s tight grip on him. “Fucking do it or leave me the fuck alone!” He feels tired all of a sudden, the days of training not as easily shaken off as ten years ago, the last hours having drained him emotionally as well. His body is still sore, and despite what he told Helmut, they’d probably need more lube to make it comfortable, his nerves overly sensitive either way. The sex earlier had been good, really good, the way Tom had played him open and fucked him, the toy inside him replacing Tom’s cock before Tom had given Andre’s pleasure any consideration, bringing him to the edge with his fingers over and over again, minutes feeling like hours as he’d taken away the stimulation any time Andre had thought that a single touch further would have been enough to push him over; until his body had stopped obeying his control, clenching around the plug and his cock jerking untouched against his stomach, a single touch of the tip of Tom’s finger against the sensitive underside enough to make him come all over himself, hips thrusting up into the air eager for friction but denied. He’d been close to tears then, and he can feel them prickling at the corners of his eyes now. He wants to be touched, he wants to come, and then maybe not be left to himself afterwards.

“You really think this is all you deserve,” Helmut says, his voice rough from his harsh breathing. He keeps his weight on Andre’s neck, even as Andre stops struggling, his hands scrabbling at the wall as he feels Helmut’s fingers at his arse, exploring, then digging in around the edge of the plug, pulling.

Andre bites his lip, stifling a moan. His body reflexively clenches down on the plug, fighting against it being torn from his body, but Helmut twists it lightly, a persistent pull until the widest part slips past Andre’s tense muscles with an obscene sound that makes Andre dig his teeth deeper into his lip until he tastes blood. The toy tumbles to the floor. Andre can feel the slick leaking out of him. He closes his eyes, struggling to take a breath against Helmut’s weight still pinning him against the wall, his hips squirming when he feels the almost gently touch of Helmut’s fingers skimming over his hole, pressing into him.

It’s all too much. Andre can’t swallow a sob. “Please!” he exclaims, his voice trembling, not sure whether he’s asking Helmut to stop or keep going. Helmut’s weight lifts off his back, and Andre finds himself clutching the wall, trying to keep himself upright on unsteady legs.

He doesn’t meet Helmut’s eyes when he is turned around, leaning heavily against the wall. His gaze is fixed somewhere in the middle distance, everything a little blurry, keeping his eyes averted even when Helmut reaches out to tip his head up. Helmut crowds him against the wall, a solid, hot presence in front of him, and then they are kissing. The stubble around their lips rasps against each other as Helmut licks into his mouth and Andre lets him, no resistance at all as he opens his mouth to him, tongue meeting his as Helmut grasps his jaw holding him how he pleases.

Gravity wins eventually. They sink to the floor, the plaster scratching over welts and bruises on Andre’s back, making his breath catch. Trapped between the wall and Helmut’s body, he ends up straddling Helmut’s thighs, shoulders pressed into the wall. His hips buck mindlessly against Helmut’s stomach, seeking friction. Helmut’s hand leaves his jaw, dipping to fumble between their bodies, the metal clink of his belt buckle before he pulls open the buttons of his jeans. The way Helmut shifts them to line up their bodies makes Andre almost bend double, his already tired body complaining, aching.

“Look at me.”

Helmut’s words startle him from whatever corner of his mind he’d fallen into. Andre swallows, shakes his head, feeling the wall hard against the back of his skull.

“Andre. Look at me,” Helmut insists, kissing him deeply, nuzzling along his cheek bone, biting at his jaw. Andre blinks, forcing his eyes open, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Helmut’s shirt. He can feel the buttons straining as he twists the fabric, and then he moans as Helmut pushes into him, the searing heat of his hard cock feeling like too much against Andre’s oversensitive nerves. “You want that? To be treated like nothing more than a cum dump?” he asks, his voice rough as he pushes relentlessly forwards.

Andre bites his lip, feeling Helmut lick over where his teeth dig into it. He can’t answer, his body caught between too much and more, and he stops thinking, his mind going blissfully quiet for a long moment as he just feels everything at once: the hard, scratchy plaster behind him, the cheap fibre of the carpet beneath his feet, the heat and straining hard muscles and musky scent of Helmut’s body against him and around him and inside him, everywhere at once, tearing him apart and holding him together at the same time. He registers that Helmut is still talking, the rhythm of his voice and the damp heat of his breath against Andre’s face, but he can’t make sense of the words, too far away.

Orgasm creeps up on him slowly, building within him with every thrust of Helmut’s cock, with every touch as he wraps his hand around Andre’s cock, starting to jerk him off slowly. When he comes, it is without the fireworks of euphoria, without the rush of adrenaline that’s already been drained from him earlier. He tips over the edge, every muscle in his body unclenching as Helmut’s fingers coax spurt after spurt of come from his cock. He shivers, light-headed, the room almost spinning around him, cut loose from his bones, tears running freely down his cheeks.

 

 

Subspace is a strange place for him. One moment he’s tangled up against the wall, a blink later he comes around to the soft fabrics of the sheets against his skin. He thinks he’s alone, for the eternally long stretch between two heartbeats he thinks that he’s alone in his room, in his bed, again, that whatever happened after he’d returned from Tom has been an illusion created by his mangled mind, but then the mattress dips as Helmut shifts behind him, and Andre can feel a fresh wave of relief crash through him, can’t hold in a small sound, the wetness clinging to his eyelashes spilling over.

“I’m sorry.” Helmut’s words, soft as they’ve been spoken, ring loudly in Andre’s ears. He swallows against the lump in his throat, the fight or flight reflex the pity in them sets off in every cell of his body. The heat of Helmut’s body is searing against his back, the arm he wraps around Andre’s waist heavy as lead. His hand spreads across Andre’s chest, possessive and soothing and suffocating at the same time.

Andre reaches for it, the urge to push it away. “I need you to leave,” he grits out through his jaw shaking with tension, even as his fingers tangling with Helmut’s keep his hand firmly in place.

Helmut hums, pressing his lips against the sweaty skin at the back of Andre’s neck, just below his hair line. “Tell me again and I will.”

“Please,” Andre whispers and just squeezes his hand tighter.


End file.
